The Harry Starke Series: Books 1-3: The Harry Starke Series Boxset

by Blair Howard

  “How long, Doc?” I could barely stand to hear the answer.

  “I’d say he could have lasted a couple of hours before his heart finally gave out. Look.” He pointed to a bloody, half-empty salt shaker. “I guess the cuts alone didn’t do it for them. Time of death? Ten, twelve hours, late last night, probably. I’ll let you know for sure as soon as I have it.”

  “Them? You said ‘them.’ So you think there was more than one?” Kate said.

  “Oh yes. He was a fit old fella. I’m sure he didn’t let them hog tie him like this willingly. He’s taken a beating to the head, too, tut, tut, tut. Bastards. I hope you find ‘em. Well, I must go; let you young folks do your thing.”

  We said our goodbyes, and Sheddon shambled off through house and out through the front door, his big black case almost scraping the floor.

  “Christ, Kate,” I said. “What a mess. De Luca has a lot to answer for.”

  She nodded her agreement. “So you like De Luca for it?”

  “Not him personally, no, Gino. He’s the guy with the knife and a willingness to use it. Tony? I don’t think he has the balls for something like this. The beating? Yes. That’s more his style. Why, though? This guy had nothing to do with De Luca’s money. So why him? Cassell, I can understand, but this.... Well, you know what I mean.”

  “Doc Sheddon said ‘pain and terror,’” Kate said, thoughtfully. “Terror would be my guess. De Luca wants to put the fear of God into Cassell, maybe Steiner, too, and him.” She looked down at all that was left of the once handsome James Westwood.

  “Lieutenant. Do you have a minute?” The senior CSI tech was holding an empty spool of Duct Tape.

  “Yes, of course. What do you have?”

  “Well, as you can see, the tape is all gone, but I’ve managed to lift a good-size partial print from the inside of the spool. It’s good. I think there’s enough so AFIS will be able to make a match. There are no more, at least not yet, and there are none on the tape they used on the body. I’d say they were wearing gloves, both of them.”

  “How did that print get on there, then?” Kate said.

  He grinned. “They ain’t as smart as they think they are. They always forget something, don’t they? Leave something behind, take something away. Here’s how I see it. They knew what they were going to do, so they came prepared. They brought the tape with them. They wore gloves. Yes, there were more than one of them. They tore off the first few inches of each roll. There would have been prints on it, put there before they put the gloves on. They probably stuffed it into a pocket and took it away with them, but they forgot about the inside of the roll. It’s nice and slick. The surface takes prints well. They used more than one roll, too, but they must have packed what was left of the others and took it away with them. This empty spool was on the mantelpiece. They must have put it down when they changed rolls and forgot about it. You’ve got yourself a big fat break, Lieutenant.”

  “Let’s go back to your office, Harry,” Kate said, “and see if we can figure this thing out.

  Chapter 26

  On the drive back to the office, I called Jacque and had her send Mike out to get some pizzas. It was just after noon when we arrived. Kate and Lonnie, who was waiting for us in the outer office, followed me into the conference room where the rest of my crew were already present, eating pizza and drinking Coke. No Coke for me; I grabbed a large cup of Dark Italian, a paper plate, four slices of pie, and flopped down in my chair at the head of the table. By now, I was in a foul mood. The wound to my right arm was weeping through the dressing and it hurt like hell. My left shoulder had stiffened up nicely, so nicely I could barely lift my hand to my plate. I was one sorry S.O.B., and in no mood to talk, so I gave Kate the floor.

  She stood, grabbed her Coke, sucked down a big gulp, and looked at the gathering. I couldn’t help but stare at her. She was wearing tight-fitting jeans, a white sleeveless top, and three-inch heels. The Glock 26 was in a holster on her right hip. Her gold badge was clipped to her belt in front of the left pocket. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail; she wore almost no makeup, just a little lipstick. Standing there at the table, at a little over six feet two in those heels, she looked stunning.

  “Let’s talk about Westwood,” she began. “He was killed sometime late last night. He was found this morning at around eight-thirty by his Hispanic maid. He was Duct Taped to a chair. He’d been tortured. There was a lot of blood, but not enough to kill him. It looks like a heart attack brought on by the torture; we’ll know later when we get the results of the autopsy. Even so, that could bring a charge of first-degree murder. The intent was to commit torture to the point where the victim died, even if by a heart attack. Anyway, CSI still has the scene under wraps, so we can only assume.... Harry, you want to take over?”

  “Sure.” I looked at Kate, then at each person at the table, ending with Lonnie.

  “It’s my considered opinion that we’re dealing with two separate killers here. Someone killed Sattler for whatever reason; someone else killed Westwood, but not intentionally. There’s no doubt in my mind, or Kate’s, that Westwood was not intended to die. Right, Kate?”

  She nodded.

  “This was a botched attempt to do one of two things, maybe both. The first was to get information from Westwood, probably about the missing money. The second was to put the fear of God into the other two partners. Maybe, as I said, the idea was to do both. It matters not. Westwood died in the process and that means murder. Does anyone have any other ideas or comments?”

  Lonnie stuck his hand up.

  “No need for that, Lonnie,” I said. “We’re not in high school. Just ask the question.”

  “Two killers? I don’t get it. It doesn’t make sense, at least not to me.”

  I nodded. I understood.

  “Okay. Let’s think about it this way,” I said. “Sattler was killed without a lot of malice and forethought, but whoever killed him went to a lot of trouble to make it look like suicide. The Westwood killing was not like that. Yes, whoever did it, and I think we know who that was, also did a little upfront planning. There were at least two of them, and they took everything they thought they would need with them, including several rolls of Duct Tape. They wore gloves, both of them, all of them, as the case may be. Westwood wasn’t supposed to die. They wanted either information or they wanted to set an example. These killers didn’t care about covering it up. They left him there, taped to the chair. They used a knife and they made it as graphic and scary as possible. The fact that he died was a bonus for them, even though it was a mistake. The intent, according to Doc Sheddon, was terror, either for the victim... or for someone else.”

  Lonnie nodded, so did Mike.

  “I believe, and Kate agrees with me, that Westwood’s demise was the work of Sal De Luca’s two soldiers, Gino Polti and Tony Carpeta. The cuts to Westwood’s arms and legs were done by an expert, so that would be Gino; he’s the knife man. Tony was the muscle.”

  “If De Luca was responsible for Westwood’s death, what happened to the money?” Tim said. “Do you have any idea who could have made the transfer, or killed Sattler?”

  “Not a clue. Sattler is still in the wind. I have no idea who might have killed him, or who stole the cash, but I think they were one and the same. Whoever it was, they were well known to him. That means it could have been one of the three partners or one or both of the family: Gloria or Stephanie. Kate?”

  “I agree,” Kate said, “but as Harry said. It could have been any one of them or... none of them. We need more information. We’ll have to reinterview all of them and quickly. Harry, we have to find this killer. I’m catching all kinds of heat from the chief.” She looked down at Guest who was sitting beside her.

  “Lonnie. I want you to go and talk to the Hollister kid and Wendy Brewer. I’m thinking it’ll be a waste of time, but you never know. I need the reports as soon as you can. Okay?”

  Lonnie rose heavily to his feet, crammed a last bite of mushroom and peperoni in
to his mouth, took a huge swig of Coke, and started for the door.

  “Hold on, Lonnie. We’re not finished yet. Harry, let’s you and me start right now with Cassell and then follow up with as many of the other three as possible.”

  “Why not start with De Luca?” I asked. “We know that son of a bitch killed Westwood, or at least is responsible for it. Let’s start with Sal.”

  “No, we don’t yet know if the print on the Duct Tape belongs to Gino or Tony. All we have right now is conjecture. We need more. We’ll go see Cassell, the Steiner woman, and then the Sattlers.”

  “I don’t agree. For one thing, as you say, right now we don’t know if that print is theirs or not, but they don’t know that we don’t know that. We can bluff them. If the print doesn’t belong to either of them, they’ll know it, then we’ll know it, and there’s no harm done. If it does belong to one of them, they’ll show it, and we’ll have them. Look, Kate, if the son of a bitch did for Westwood, we need to know, now, before they kill someone else. The interviews can wait. De Luca can’t. He may already have sent them out after Steiner or Cassell.”

  “For once, I agree with Harry.” Lonnie was serious.

  Damn, Lonnie. That’s a first. What brought that on, I wonder?

  “If it was one of them,” he continued, “and they think they’re clean, left no trace, they could, as Harry said, hit someone else, or they might even leave town, go back where they came from. De Luca can’t afford to take chances losing his twelve mil, so we need to get to them ASAP. If not....”

  Wow, good for you, Lonnie.

  “Anyone else have any thoughts?” I said.

  They all shook their heads.

  “Right, De Luca it is, then. Kate?”

  She shook her head. Obviously, she wasn’t happy, “Harry, you and I will go in my car. Lonnie, you’ll follow in the cruiser. When we’re done, you go and interview Hollins and Brewer. I’ll call for more backup when we get there. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 27

  It was almost two o’clock when we arrived outside Il Sapore Roma. Kate pulled up at the curb outside the front door. Lonnie parked just behind her, and two more cruisers pulled up behind him.

  I checked my weapon, jacked a shell into the breach, replaced it on my hip, and looked at Kate. She nodded. We both took a deep breath and then exited the car. Lonnie was already waiting at the front door.

  “Okay,” Lonnie said, nervously. “What’s the plan?”

  “Harry and I will go in first,” Kate replied. “You follow us, but stay back. Keep your weapon holstered and your eyes peeled. If you see anything you don’t like, sing out. Okay?”

  He nodded. “Okay!” He hitched his belt, flipped the strap on his holster to free his Glock, jiggled it to make sure it would draw freely, let his jacket fall back into place, and then said, “Ready.”

  Kate looked at me. “Ready, Harry.”

  “As always.”

  She stepped forward. I did likewise. She pushed open the door and I followed her in, Lonnie right on my heels. I could hear him breathing.

  They were there, all three of them, in their usual place. Sal sat on a stool at the bar, his bandaged right hand resting on the granite top. Tony was just to his right, Gino to his left, between Sal and the kitchen door.

  When they heard the door open, they all looked up. Tony got up off his stool and moved away from Sal, slightly further to his right. Whether this was to give De Luca an unobstructed view, or to provide himself with one, I don’t know, but it served as a warning and the three of us stopped in mid-stride.

  “Take it easy, boys,” Kate said, as she laid her hand lightly on the Glock. “We don’t need any accidents, now do we?”

  “What the hell do you want?” De Luca said. “I told you never to set foot in here again, Starke. You lookin’ to get your ass handed to you in a bag?”

  I said nothing. I stood beside Kate, watching all three, looking for the first sign of trouble.

  “We’ve come for your boys, De Luca,” she said. “Step forward, boys. You’re coming with us.”

  “Like hell they are,” Sal said, reaching for his phone. “What’s the charge?”

  “Murder. They killed James Westwood.”

  “What? Murder? Westwood’s dead? You’re shittin’ me, right?” He was incredulous. It was easy to see he didn’t know Westwood was dead.

  “Nope. He’s dead. Now, Tony. Take your weapon and place it on the bar, carefully and slowly. Lonnie, go get it.” She gave the instructions without taking her eyes of any one of them. Lonnie retrieved Tony’s 9mm Glock and stepped back, out of the line of fire.

  “Gino,” she said. “You did a bad thing. You left your prints on the inside of a roll of Duct Tape.”

  He glared at her, his eyes filled with hate. He flicked them back and forth, between me and Kate, finally settling them on me.

  “Put the knife on the bar, Gino,” she said, “and step away.”

  He growled something unintelligible, but didn’t move.

  “You heard her, Gino,” I said, quietly. “Do it now.”

  He screwed up his mouth in a wild grimace, his eyes still on mine, narrowed to twin slits of pure evil, and he reached down. When his hand came up, it was holding Sal’s .45 and he was thumbing the hammer.

  Acting on instinct alone, in one single motion, I swept my right hand across to my left side, drew the nine, swung it upward and, BAM... BAM, BAM. I got off two shots to his one. I don’t know if it was because he wasn’t used to such a big weapon, but whatever, he missed. I didn’t. My two slugs hit him in the heart, less than two inches apart. He staggered backward under the double impact. His legs were working, but his heart wasn’t. They were already collapsing under him as he slammed into the kitchen door. It was locked, and he fell in a heap in front of it, dead before he hit the floor, the .45 clattering beside him.

  Even I was stunned by the suddenness of it. It had taken less than three seconds and a man was dead, and I had killed him. I didn’t see how De Luca and Tony reacted, but they both raised their hands. I only know that because I saw them do it by my peripheral vision. I was still staring dumbfounded at what was left of Gino Polti. The next thing I was aware of was Kate taking the weapon out of my hand, and the restaurant filling with cops.

  Damn, that’s three! I remember thinking as she took the gun, and yes, it was a stupid and unwarranted thought, but what the hell. I’d just shot a man dead.

  The aftermath was a blur. I sat alone in Kate’s car for what seemed like hours. Everybody and their mothers arrived on the scene, including Chief Johnston and DA Jack McClure. I was in the shit. That was for sure.

  Tony and Sal Deluca were hauled away in handcuffs, on what charges I had no idea. Doc Sheddon arrived and pronounced Gino dead, duh, and they zipped him into a black vinyl bag and took him away to Sheddon’s lair.

  Me? My ears were ringing from the gunfire. Every time someone spoke to me, the words echoed. You know, just as you can sometimes hear yourself when you’re talking on the phone. My head was aching, my eyes watering, but more than that, I was filled with an overwhelming sense of the enormity of what had just happened. It wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t even the second, but I had just shot a man to death, and I couldn’t get the look in his eyes out of my mind.

  Other than that, I guess I was okay. They dug the .45 slug Gino had sent my way out of the wall by the front door. It wasn’t until later, when I was seated alone in the unmarked police car, that I remembered feeling the wind of it as it passed by my right ear. He’d meant it for me, that was for sure.

  Kate returned to the car. She got in, didn’t say a word, and then drove to the Police Department on Amnicola. The next three hours were filled with interrogations, statements, and a whole lot of stupid questions asked both by the chief and the DA. Finally, they let me go, and Kate drove me back to my office.

  I didn’t go in. I didn’t want to talk, to anyone. I just wanted to go home.

  “It’s okay, Harry,” Kate said,
quietly as we sat together in her car. “It’s self-defense, clear and simple. Both Lonnie and I saw what happened. There’ll be no charges. By the way, De Luca and Carpeta were released before you were. Sal’s lawyer was at the PD waiting when they were taken in. We have nothing on them, unless the print on roll of tape belongs to Tony, which I doubt.”

  “Yeah. Why am I not surprised? No charges for me, either, huh? That’s something. Thanks, Kate. See you tomorrow?”

  “Of course. Will you be all right?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be fine. Thanks. I love you.” I don’t know why I said that, it just came out. I felt pretty foolish, but what the hell.

  She smiled, nodded, leaned over, and kissed me lightly on the cheek. “You sure you’ll be okay?”

  “Yep... yep. No problem.”

  I got out of her car, said goodnight to her, climbed into the Maxima, and headed home. Somehow, being in my own car was kind of calming. To this day, though, I’m not sure how I managed the drive home; everything was a blur. I remember starting the car, and the next thing I knew was hitting the garage door opener on the sun visor. I remembered nothing of the eight miles or so between my office and Lakeshore Lane. I parked the car in the garage and headed up the stairs into the kitchen. I looked at the clock on the wall. It was still early, not quite seven-thirty. I went to the bedroom, stripped, took a long, hot shower, and put on sweats. It was going to be one of those nights.

  I made myself a grilled cheese sandwich, poured three fingers of Bombay Sapphire gin into a tall glass, added ice, tonic, a slice of lime, and then sat down on the couch in front of the big window.

  The view across the Tennessee River was, as it always is, spectacular, even in bad weather, and it was deteriorating rapidly. The sky was the color of dirty snow. The light was dropping quickly and the Thrasher Bridge away to the west was already ablaze with streetlights and the lights of cars heading home from the city. The raindrops began to fall, slowly at first, and then harder: giant droplets that turned the surface of the river into a rippling blanket of tiny waterspouts. It was good to be home, even if I was alone.